


We Two Boys Together Clinging

by paperscribe



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Conference, M/M, Reading Aloud, Sharing a Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:14:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe/pseuds/paperscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway and Lewis attend a partnership-building seminar for work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Two Boys Together Clinging

"I don't think I can stand three more days of this," Lewis grumbled as he got into bed.

They were at a so-called "relationship-building" retreat for the week. Half the Oxfordshire police force was there as well; it was meant to build and solidify working relationships between partnered officers. Hathaway saw it as unhelpful but harmless; Lewis, from what Hathaway could tell, seemed to see it as a plan to divest him of every last shred of his good nature.

"I did catch you when we had to do trust falls," Hathaway said blithely.

Lewis snorted. "And what bloody use are those? At what point in police work will we ever have to fall backwards?"

Hathaway tried to think whether there might ever be a time when falling backward might be useful.

"Don't answer that," Lewis said, irritation turning toward amusement at Hathaway's silence. "You can't possibly like this."

Hathaway shrugged. "I don't dislike it. I don't think of it one way or the other."

"Well, I don't like it," Lewis said. "All these motivational speakers telling us to keep the lines of communication open. As though we didn't do that already."

"Not everyone has the outstanding partnership you and I do, sir," Hathaway said.

"Then they should be here and we should be allowed to go home," Lewis said, rolling around as he tried to find a comfortable position. "I can never sleep at these things. If you think I'm in a bad mood now, wait a few days."

Hathaway hesitated. "Actually…that had occurred to me. And I have a potential solution, if you're interested."

"What's that?" Lewis asked, propping himself up on one arm.

Hathaway held up a book. "I brought something to read. I could easily read it aloud to you."

Lewis regarded the book thoughtfully. "What is it?"

"Leaves of Grass. Walt Whitman," Hathaway said. Lewis looked blankly at him, so Hathaway added, "Poetry."

Lewis made a face. "Not all that thee and thou stuff."

"Not as much as you're thinking," Hathaway said. "And anyway, what does it matter if it is? It's meant to put you to sleep. If it's boring to you, it serves its purpose."

"Yeees," Lewis said, with the air of someone who had to agree but didn't like it much. "What's it about?"

Hathaway wondered how to explain it. "It's a bit like…a journal, written in poem form. He writes about whatever he's thinking about."

"Hmm," Lewis said noncommittally. "That doesn't sound too bad." He rolled onto his back, folding his hands behind his head. "Go on then."

Though Hathaway had never admitted it to anyone, he rather liked reading aloud. He rarely got the chance to do it, because for some reason reading aloud seemed to be socially acceptable only with people who couldn't read for themselves, like children or the elderly. He'd used to read to his aunt with motor neurone disease when she'd been ill, but this was a much more pleasant occasion. He opened the book.

"'Come, said my soul,/Such verses for my Body let us write, (for we are one,)…'"

As time passed, Lewis's eyes drooped closed, and his breathing evened and deepened. It was working, and Hathaway felt a little thrill of pride that he'd been able to solve this particular puzzle. Finally, Lewis was quite obviously sleeping.

Hathaway knew he should put the book away and stop, but…there was one poem in this book he wanted to read first. Not for Lewis, who was doing something suspiciously like snoring now, but for himself, just to say the words. He gently leafed through the pages, taking care to be quiet, and read the words aloud softly.

'O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you,  
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same room with you,  
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is  
playing within me.'

If that wasn't a description of love, Hathaway didn't know what was. It was beautiful…and the sort of thing Hathaway would never dare read aloud when Lewis was awake. He closed the book carefully so as not to make too much noise, leaning over to click off the light and whispering, "Goodnight, sir."

***

They were waiting for the next day's seminar to begin when Lewis whispered to Hathaway, "That poetry idea wasn't half bad."

"It seemed to work," Hathaway said.

"It did work," Lewis said. "Any chance of getting a repeat performance?"

Hathaway smiled. "Of course."

"Good."

"Now," said the seminar leader, a beatific, bearded fellow whose name was Victor but who told everyone to call him 'Vic', "we're going to do an exercise involving mirroring. Studies have shown that simply duplicating someone's body language can lead to increased empathy for someone, and empathy is crucial in any job that requires a close partnership. So one of you is going to be the mirror image of the other, as though you were his or her reflection, and then you're going to switch roles."

Lewis shook his head. "I think we know which one of us gets the better end of that deal. If you buy a mirror where you look like me, you'd best return it."

Hathaway chuckled. "I could say the same."

Lewis gave Hathaway a sceptical look. "Of course you couldn't. Don't be daft."

Before Hathaway could ask what that meant exactly, Vic interrupted. "Okay, okay, that's enough. Decide which one of you will be the reflection first."

"I'll reflect you first," Lewis said. "I can't think of anything to do anyway." His expression suggested he couldn't believe he was doing this at all.

Hathaway nodded. "All right." 

He suspected Vic had chosen this exercise because it not only dealt with empathy, but trust. You had to trust your partner not to make you do anything stupid, or anything you wouldn't like. Lewis was embarrassed enough to be doing this at all; Hathaway wasn't about to make that embarrassment worse.

"If you'd really rather not," Hathaway said, "we can…"

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Go on. I won't have it getting back to Innocent that I was uncooperative."

"Aaaaand…start!" Vic said, clapping his hands together.

Hathaway put his hands flat on the table between them. Lewis did the same. Hathaway didn't have many things in mind to do for this particular activity, and frowned, trying to think of something…and then Lewis tried to duplicate his frown, and it was completely strange to see someone else try to mimic your facial expressions. Hathaway raised an eyebrow and Lewis tried to, failed, and raised the opposing eyebrow instead. Hathaway snorted with laughter, looking down at the tabletop, and he heard Lewis snort in imitation.

"No sounds," Vic chastised.

Hathaway rolled his eyes and Lewis did the same. They probably would have done even without the aid of this particular exercise.

"Good!" Vic said, clearly not looking at them. "Now I want you to switch places. Have the other person be the reflection."

Hathaway decided he'd have a bit of fun and try to match Lewis's movements as he made them. So when Lewis lifted a hand to smooth his hair, Hathaway did it at almost exactly the same time. That startled Lewis, and Hathaway tried to look startled back. Lewis sat there thinking, and then he held out a hand. Hathaway did the same, and Lewis kept moving his hand forward until their hands were pressed flat together.

_Oh, the mirror scene from Duck Soup!_ Hathaway thought, only stopping himself smiling by reminding himself that he was Lewis's mirror image, and Lewis wasn't smiling. 

Lewis moved his hand in a slow circle, and Hathaway did the same, as if they were polishing the nonexistent glass between them. Lewis's hand was warm, with the roughness of calluses in a few places; it felt nice to touch him like this. _And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._ Hathaway felt his face heat at the thought and hoped he wasn't blushing.

Their hands were still pressed together, but Lewis was gazing off into space now, thinking. He looked melancholy, and Hathaway didn't want to embarrass him by imitating that. Slowly, Hathaway folded his fingers down so they fit in the spaces between Lewis's fingers, holding his hand. Lewis shifted his gaze to their hands, and after a moment, he smiled and folded his fingers down too. 

"Very good, everyone!" Vic said, beaming. "Now be sure you take some time over lunch to discuss what you've learned from this."

"I've learned I make some strange faces," Lewis said, pulling their hands apart.

"I'm sure they're fine. It's just that they don't translate very well to my face," Hathaway said.

"Right," Lewis said. "Lunch, then. And hopefully no more bloody mirror routines."

Hathaway stood, murmuring more to himself than to Lewis, "It wasn't so bad."

That night, Hathaway read Lewis to sleep again. And just as before, he waited until he was sure Lewis was asleep before turning to his favourite poem on his favourite page.

'O you whom I often and silently come where you are that I may be with you...'

***

The partnership-building exercise for the next day was to blindfold one person and to have the other verbally guide the first person through a cluttered area with voice instructions alone. Hathaway tactfully volunteered to be the blindfolded one, aware that Lewis would be intensely uncomfortable being blindfolded.

It worked at first. Lewis gave concise instructions and Hathaway followed them. He'd managed to avoid the obstacles so far when Lewis said, "One step right. Wait, wait, I mean my right, your left!"

But Hathaway had already moved to the right, and stepped on something that moved under his foot. He lost his balance and started to fall…

…and Lewis caught him.

Hathaway didn't need to see him to know it was Lewis. No one else would've come to his aid so quickly. Even though Hathaway couldn't see him, Lewis had a steady, comforting presence. Hathaway held on to Lewis's arms for a minute, just long enough to regain his balance.

"All right?" Lewis said under his breath, and Hathaway nodded, reluctantly letting go of Lewis's arms.

"Didn't know you could move that fast!" someone called from the back of the room, and there was some scattered laughter. Lewis grumbled in irritation and moved away, and Hathaway removed his blindfold, following close behind.

"Can't believe I gave you the wrong direction," Lewis said over lunch.

Hathaway was surprised he was still thinking about it. "Don't worry. You didn't let me fall."

"You shouldn't have slipped in the first place," Lewis said.

"Somehow I think our partnership will survive," Hathaway said.

Lewis was silent for a long while. "Have you ever been jealous, Hathaway?"

Hathaway frowned at Lewis even as his heart turned a somersault. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…suppose you knew someone. And you were friends. You thought it wasn't anything more. But then you thought about how you would feel if that person were with someone else and it…did something to you."

Hathaway felt as though the food he'd been eating had just congealed in his stomach. "You mean Dr Hobson." He must be talking about Dr Hobson and Peterson.

"I don't mean anyone. I'm just asking!" Lewis snapped.

"Right," Hathaway said. "Sorry."

Lewis sighed. "No, I'm sorry. Even I don't know what I mean. It's just sometimes I think…sometimes I think I…" He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Feelings are stupid," Hathaway said lightly, trying to cheer Lewis.

Lewis nodded, poking at his food. "Yeah. Stupid."

***

That night, the poetry reading proceeded as usual. Lewis fell asleep, and Hathaway waited until he was snoring to close the book. But at the sound of the book closing, Lewis stirred a bit and made a sound of protest.

Hathaway hesitated, uncertain whether Lewis was awake or not. "Sir?"

"'S not how it ends," Lewis protested.

Hathaway felt cold. "What do you mean?"

"Always ends the same," Lewis mumbled, half-asleep, eyes still closed. "With the electric fire when you sit next to me."

Lewis heard the last poem. He must've heard it every night if he knew it had been left out tonight. Hathaway didn't know how to feel about that, and he certainly didn't know what meaning Lewis had taken from the poem's repetition. Maybe he would be lucky and Lewis would simply think all the major sections of the book ended with that poem.

He cleared his throat, reopening the book. "All right. Here it is." And he read the poem he'd read the previous two nights.

Lewis sighed, relaxing at the familiarity of it. "'S better."

"I'm glad," Hathaway said softly, setting the book aside and turning off the light.

"I miss you when you go away," Lewis mumbled.

Lewis must be dreaming. Hathaway knew some people could talk and sleep at once; he'd had entire conversations with his schoolmates as they slept that they didn't remember in the mornings. 

"You don't have to," Hathaway said. "I'm right here."

Lewis made a soft, unhappy sound, and Hathaway wondered what was going on in the depths of Lewis's dreams. Hathaway wanted to get out of bed, to go to Lewis and touch his shoulder and tell him everything was all right…but how could he? If he touched Lewis, he would wake him, and he knew exactly how pleased Lewis would be about that. And even if he didn't wake Lewis, there was no guarantee that anything Hathaway said or did would comfort him in his sleep.

So Hathaway stayed where he was, and wondered.

***

Lewis was irritable and short-tempered the next day. He didn't want to chat in the morning; he rebuffed any attempts Hathaway made at casual conversation, and he glared at anyone else who tried to talk to him.

When Vic announced that the activity for today would involve making animal sounds, that seemed to be the final straw for Lewis. Without a word, he stormed out of the room. Hathaway glanced round the room, then hurried after him.

Lewis glanced back over his shoulder and saw Hathaway behind him. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," Hathaway said, a bit startled by Lewis's continuing bad temper. "I just wanted to…show my support, I suppose, for you not to make animal noises."

"It's not the animal noises!" Lewis snapped. "It's that I…" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter."

"I think it does, if it's got you in a mood like this one," Hathaway said. "You've been stroppy all morning. Didn't you sleep well last night?"

Lewis gave him an irate look. "I don't see what difference it makes to you."

Hathaway was taken aback. Since when had he not cared? And since when was Lewis angry at him? Where was all this coming from?

"Right," Hathaway said. "I'll leave you to it then." He turned and began to walk away.

He didn't understand. He just didn't understand. This was worlds away from how quiet and open Lewis had been last night, misquoting the Whitman poem as 'the electric fire when you sit next to me.' The speaker of the poem was the one doing the sitting, of course, and was the one with the internal fire…

…unless Lewis had been misquoting it because that's how he remembered it. Because that's how he had experienced it. The electric fire inside him when Hathaway sat next to him.

The wistful expression on Lewis's face when he and Hathaway had their hands pressed against each other. The sight of their hands clasped together.

Have you ever been jealous?

The feeling of Lewis catching him when he fell.

_Hathaway, you idiot._

Hathaway turned back to Lewis, who was standing by the window, posture distinctly defeated. Slowly, Hathaway moved to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Lewis said, sounding anything but.

"'Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is/playing within me,'" Hathaway said.

"Got it memorised, have you?" Lewis asked, turning to meet Hathaway's gaze. 

Hathaway looked at him steadily and let him read the truth there.

When Lewis spoke again, his voice was unsteady. "I did try to say."

Hathaway nodded. "I know." 

Lewis chuckled softly. "I'm not sure this is exactly what Innocent had in mind when she sent us here to work on our partnership."

"I don't know," Hathaway said slowly. "I think…she might've seen it."

Lewis's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Before us?"

"Honestly, sir, Blind Pew would've seen it before we did."

Lewis nodded, acknowledging that Hathaway had a point. "So…what now?"

"Shall we go back in and moo at each other?" Hathaway asked.

Lewis smiled at him. "Let's stay out here and moo a bit."

"Of course," Hathaway said, hand moving from Lewis's shoulder to Lewis's upper back.

Lewis leaned slightly into the touch. "Read to me again tonight?"

Hathaway smiled. "I wouldn't miss it."


End file.
